Lost Letters
by Annabelle Marie
Summary: Wentworth's letter scribbled to Anne may be the most well-known, but it was not the only letter written in the overflow of emotion. While moving in, the newlyweds come across a chest of old letters holding all the hurt of the past.
1. Chapter 1

"I believe that's the last of the boxes," Anne called out. "Frederick? Where are you hiding?"

Anne walked the hall to the next open door.

"Ah there you are, my dear! What are you doing hidden away in a corner like so?"

Frederick beckoned her to come, still not saying a word. In his hand was a small wooden chest. He handed it to her with a wary smile.

Anne took it wordlessly and joined him on the floor. He looked at her with aching eyes, for fear the present would dissolve into the past. Anne took his hand as he spoke.

"I was not silent all those years. I did try to write you. I was just too proud to send them. I despised these letters. Every page, every word, was another fragment of my heart, scattered to the wind."

He turned away. Her eyes were too kind, piercing through all traces of bitterness with the sweetness of love.

"I didn't know what had become of these. I had locked them away first because I thought I hated you, and then later because I knew I loved you. I didn't want to spoil our present understanding with the misunderstandings of the past."

Frederick turned to face her, gently drawing her hands into his own, "Anne, my heart is more than whole now, but it was broken. And the blood stains still pervade these letters. The unacknowledged feelings would sometimes slip up into words and pages. It isn't pretty, but this is our past. These belong to you as much as me."

Earnestly, he searched her eyes, "Do you want to read them?"


	2. Chapter 2

The first letter was the only survivor of about 30 angry letters following the estrangement. It was tainted with ink blots, water stains, and marked out lines, even paragraphs.

"This was bitter," Frederick handed it to Anne with an apologetic look.

"_Ms. Elliot,_

_I thought it proper to inform you of my stationing on board the Laconia._

_Oh! I am only fooling myself. You don't deserve my correspondence._

_Do you know what you've done to me?_

_Cruel, unfeeling woman!_

_I suppose I am fortunate, really._

_What use have I of an unfaithful wife?_

_I'm in the navy for god's sake!_

_We fight on the belief of tender hearts and home fires burning for our return._

_I would be fighting for a feather, floating on the breeze._

_I need a rock._

_No. You were not true to me. How could you have looked at me and still betray me? Did you not once tell me in my face you saw "a mirror of your own heart"._

_Your face was cold, tense. My heart was not. My heart was warm and open._

_I don't understand you._

_Nor do I want to. I have seen enough and I will be fortunate indeed to see no more of the merciless Anne Elliot._

_Is this your normal manner of dealings? You draw innocent fellows in with a kind demeanor, ease them with lively conversation, and cast them under your spell, so that when you look them in your eyes, they become so connected, so entwined. Then you snap the cord and leave them dangling mid-air._

_All I see in this dark sea is you. The wind is an echo. _

_But I am impenetrable. Your bewitching ways are drowned out forever._

_Goodbye Ms. Elliot._

_You will touch my heart no longer._

_Quite Sincerely Yours,_

_Lieutenant Frederick Wentworth._"


	3. Chapter 3

Anne Elliot,

After much review, I have found much to discredit the argument you gave in your defense as you delivered the final strike against my heart. You said you were acting according to what was right for the both of us. What law of justice was that founded on? The law of your heart? How can it be right to injure your heart and the one you once claimed as dearest to your own, on the account of squabbling coxcombs without hearts at all? The heart I knew could not allow it. The heart I knew was wiser and sweeter than its situation should allow. The heart I knew was rich in life and love. The heart I knew... I suppose was only an illusion. My heart was a part of yours, given freely. The slightest uplift of your spirits would send mine soaring into the sky. Your mouth and mine were connected by a string. If you smiled, if the corners of your mouth even twitched, I could not help mine from doing the same.

It was all done unconsciously, falling madly in love you. I had thought there was some connection between you and I, an understanding I could find in no one else. I was young and foolish, blind to the charms of a deceitful woman. How could you condone snapping that cord, cutting my heart off from all nourishment? And to what purpose madam? To please your relatives? I think that would all be done in vain. Those heartless fools will never be pleased with you! You are much too good for them. If you did, I think I shall not know you... I don't know you.

I am a man of truth. I don't appreciate all the flam and facade you have shown in yourself. I thought your character sincere. I never could have anticipated this kind of duplicity. Why go to all the expense for a man not even rich? What was your purpose of drawing me in, only to shove me back out? Is this the common amusement for idle daughters of baronets? I cannot contemplate this any longer. I apologize for my being easily deceived. I should have been more on my guard. I was young, and had seen too few of the world and woman's wily charms. I expected nothing and found you. Not much of an improvement in the end. Forgive me, madam. I have said quite enough.

Wentworth


	4. Chapter 4

Dearest Anne,

I thought of you today. It happened in the early morning hours. I was walking along the deck thinking about breakfast and ports and coordinates, and then the smell of fresh ocean foam reached my head. It stunned me slightly. I remember how often we agreed that the smell of ocean breeze could not be rivaled. I certainly remember, however, you seem to be a woman of apathy.

I apologize. That was unkind of me. I am attempting to think of you with the same civility as with a stranger. It is my newest mindset, and has lasted for two weeks until this letter. I want you to know though, that sometimes my civility towards you is unconscious. Sometimes a memory will elicit my regard for your well-being, and I come as close to inquiring after the state of your health or your family in a letter such as this one.

This letter will not do. I have given away too much of my honest perspective, and regretfully honesty will not do with you. I could not bear the suspense of rendering my very own thoughts to the mercies of land and sea, the mercies of the weather, and the mercies of your eyes.

I cannot even follow my own thoughts. Can it be that I regret your absence in my life? I do not wish it to be true. However, when I looked into the sea today and remembered your eyes, they were not angry as they usually are. They were kind. Whatever they were looking upon, it could not have been me. They looked pleased with what they saw. I am at a loss to understand you.

Discontent,

Frederick Wentworth


	5. Chapter 5

Anne searched through the box, and after a couple of letters she deemed unreadable, she found one which suited her purpose.  
"This one is actually kind! You should have sent it. You know I would have responded." She looked at Frederick seriously as she read.

"Miss Anne Elliot,  
I write this letter today to inquire after the state of affairs at Kellynch-hall. I have not heard anything of you or your family since I was called away, and although we parted on unpleasant terms, I am still concerned as to your well-being. I am stationed on a small ship you most likely have not heard of, so I will not bother mentioning it. Perhaps Lady Russell was right doubting the hopes of my profession. My brother's church is doing well, and my sister has recently recovered from a bout of illness. I myself am quite well. I do not hold it against you in following the better judgment of your family, for we both know how much more sensible they are than I. Please write back soon, dearest. I am so eager as to know how my almost father-in-law is faring. I'm sure he is so concerned as to my well-being fighting on foreign seas.  
Forever yours,  
Wentworth."

"Okay it started out kindly. Nevermind." She stuffed it back into the chest.  
"I told you so." Frederick teased.  
"You were angry, dear. You had trusted me; I had let you down. You had worked so hard to impress my family; They ridiculed and censored you. This letter is proof that you did care for me, even then"  
"Yes I suppose so." He muttered. "Look how much wasted time is represented with these letters! Would you have forgiven me if I had written you later"  
"Yes." Anne looked down as she answered.  
"So why didn't I! Why did it take eight years before I could forgive you?" Frederick's face was pained as he looked at the accursed box.  
Anne lay her hand in Frederick's for a minute, before facing him and taking hold of his shoulders.  
"I love you now. I loved you then. We may have been separated, but now we are inseparable by any opinions or bitterness or misunderstandings. Come. I have a place for these letters.  
Frederick looked up with questioning eyes, as if to challenge her idea.  
"Trust me." She laughed, and his eyes relaxed.

Anne led him into the great room, and bade him to sit on the sofa. She set the letters briefly on an end table before departing the room. She returned in a few moments holding a lighter.  
With the greatest care, she carried the letter chest and set it in the fireplace. She bent down, and struggled to light the flame. Catching onto her idea, Frederick stood beside her.  
"Allow me." He offered his assistance gallantly. She smiled and seated herself on the sofa.

In a few short minutes Frederick joined his bride on the couch. She leaned into him, looking up at his face. His eyes were shut for a minute. He looked down at her face and smiled. They both turned their eyes towards the brilliant fire, watching the letters dissolve into ashes. 


End file.
